


Patiens usque in sempiternum

by Kate_Writes



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: M/M, Mental Instability, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 06:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Writes/pseuds/Kate_Writes
Summary: A small thing for some Rire/Strade suggested by user uwu kin!





	Patiens usque in sempiternum

Night always seems to pass slower than day, he's noticed this thanks to his inability to sleep properly due to extensive deployments and general mental instability. Insomnia. Alcoholism. Madness. This night was no different. Well, aside from the ropes digging tightly into his arms and the looming shadow of the tall, finely dressed man standing at his workbench, running those long fair hands over his tools. Strade huffs into the cloth gag, tugging futilely at the binds holding him to the iron pole in the middle of the basement. The coppery taste tainting the makeshift gag, filling his senses, threatens to trigger his gag reflex.

Shadows from all sides, creeping up from the periphery of his vision are coming closer, daring to caress his skin, deepening the cracks in his sanity. Amber eyes swiftly focus on Rire again, on the silhouette of the demon king. It's difficult to breathe through the gag with his heart pounding the way it was. Rire turns and kneels before Strade, peering into those wild, narrow-pupil'd eyes; tasting the air around the human—and relishing in the jumpy, cornered sense pouring from the German man. Ice-cold hands reach down to unbuckle the man's belt and unzip his pants; a low, dark chuckle reverberating around the cold, drafty basement when his charge hisses into the fabric tied around his face. The demon king lifts a brow over his sunglasses. _This man was enjoying this slow and subtle torment?_

_Rire is many things. He is a man, a demon, a king. He is the man that sits across from him with a whiskey in hand, a voice as rich as warm velvet that draws everyone to him as helpless as a moth to a flame. He wraps his arms around Strade and promises everything and nothing with a sly smile that just barely hides the rows of sharp teeth hidden behind it. He makes Strade want to worship him, give everything he has to give and more just to please him. Strade desperately wants to feel his hungry but patient kisses on his lips as he pins him down on the cold, stained basement floor and fucks him raw. Strade wanted him to play at the strings of his mind and body with the skill and care of a master, to hollow out his body and devour him until there is nothing left. He wants his death by Rire's skillful hands. The seeds he planted in his mind begin to sprout. He had brought him into his home willingly—_ Those bright, manic eyes fly open and he's gasping hard for breath now that the gag has been removed. Strade feels hot and cold all at once, all over; as if he's come down with the flu. He is unable to look away from those glowing golden irises; the world around him tilts and slips sideways.

_"Finally awake, little human~? Wonderful, let's begin, shall we?"_  
That velvet, sultry voice breaks through the madness and the mind games. Strade _really_ looks at Rire now—oily, black tentacles have burst from his back and are lifting him from the cold concrete floor; one wraps around his waist and pins his arms to his side, another forces itself down his throat—triggering his gag reflex for real this time. Another has slipped down the front of his pants and boxers, curling around his achingly hard shaft. Tears, forced out by the strength behind his gagging, drip wetly down flushed, sweaty cheeks from squished up eyes. Strade couldn't make a sound even if he'd wanted too—not with that tentacle sliding deeper down his throat and esophagus.

There's a vicious, cruel smile painting the demon king's features as he continues to destroy the man hanging in his grasp, struggling weakly against the slick grasp of the tentacles. Rire laughs lowly. The games have only just begun.


End file.
